


Breakfast Time

by Mildredo



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, who needs plot when sexy breakfast times am i right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5285207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredo/pseuds/Mildredo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake brings Amy breakfast in bed. Amy thanks him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast Time

Days off with Jake are the best kind of days off. Since the new mattress was delivered they usually stay at his apartment, the comfort of the bed balancing out the lingering scent of old socks that Amy can’t seem to find a source for - and she has cleaned the place meticulously more than once since they’ve been dating. It’s easier to relax into the day when Jake is there in the mornings, soft and sleep-rumpled, clad in his old college sweatpants that hang loose on his hips. He kisses Amy awake with  cold lips that tell her he’s already been out to the bakery on his block with the good coffee and even better bagels.

“Morning,” he smiles as Amy opens her eyes, stretches out her shoulders, and reaches for her glasses on the nightstand so she can see more than a vaguely Jake-shaped blur. He’s already climbed back into bed, leaving a steaming paper cup on Amy’s nightstand and clutching his own, a bulging brown bag in his other hand. Amy takes a long sip of her coffee and sighs, letting the steam fog up her vision for a moment.

“Greenberg’s finest?” she asks and Jake nods.

“Where else? They’re the best bagels in Brooklyn. Don’t tell Charles I said that.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Amy laughs, taking the bag from Jake’s hand and fishing out her breakfast. She passes Jake his bagel and uses the paper bag as a plate; Jake might not care about crumbs in the bed but she does. They eat quietly, sharing smiles every time they synchronize coffee sips.

Jake spills seeds across his bare chest and takes the lid off his cup to tip the last mouthful into his mouth. Amy balls up her bag-plate and laughs at Jake, leans over and peppers kisses across his skin, picking up the seeds that freckle him, working her way up the column of his throat and along his jaw to kiss away his froth mustache. He tastes like coffee and sugar and cream cheese and Amy hums against his lips in approval. Jake hasn’t shaved yet and his stubble is rough against Amy’s lips but he’s sweet and scruffy and Amy can’t resist diving in for another taste, longer and deeper but just as soft. He slides his arm underneath her raised  waist and splays his hand wide across the middle of her back, crumpling the fabric of the baggy t shirt she likes to sleep in when she stays over and guiding her to move closer until she’s on top of him, bracketing his hips with her thighs, pressed low against him underneath the warm weight of Jake’s thick winter comforter.

Amy takes her time, catching Jake’s bottom lip between hers and sucking, nibbling, letting his tongue brush against hers only briefly before pulling back. There’s a confidence she’s developed with Jake, a new side of her that feels comfortable taking charge in a way she hasn’t before, and her spine prickles at the way Jake breathes a ragged “ _Ames_ ” against her open lips. She pushes herself up and away, feeling Jake hard against her as she sits back and surveys her work. Jake is _wrecked_ \- his pupils blown, his pale skin dappled pink, his breathing hard and desperate. He looks up at Amy like she’s a work of art and when he reaches his trembling hands underneath her shirt and up to hold her waist, it’s with the kind of gentle reverence and adoration that makes her heart clench and her stomach flip. She can single-handedly turn the brilliant mind of Jake Peralta to mush and that’s powerful and thrilling.

He can turn her equally brilliant mind to mush just as quickly, but that isn’t the point.

She’s about to lean down again, continue the slow tease she’s worked up, but Jake’s hands glide further up her sides until he can splay his fingers on the sides of her breasts and run the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. Amy’s eyes close and her head tilts backwards, groaning a little at the sensation, and she knows at Jake’s low chuckle that she can’t hold out much longer. She shifts her hips forward, rocking her clit against Jake’s hard cock through her shorts and his sweatpants, and ducks down to catch Jake’s mouth again, deep and frantic now, no pretence left.

His hands still underneath her shirt, Jake takes it upon himself to extract Amy from her cotton confines and once it’s over her head, mussing her hair, he tosses it aside and settles his hands on her hips, thumbs dipping under the waistband of her black shorts.

“You’re so beautiful, Ames,” Jake says, his voice catching in his throat. “You’re so -“

Amy cuts him off with another kiss, a chaste press of lips, and makes awkward work of shuffling her shorts down her legs and off. She makes the same fumbling effort with Jake’s sweatpants  and Jake laughs at her attempts. Amy giggles and thumps a fist lightly against Jake’s chest.

“Shut up,” she laughs. “You’re ruining the mood.”

“Nothing short of an asteroid strike could ruin the mood,” Jake says, wriggling his feet until he’s able to kick the sweatpants off. “And even that wouldn’t be a guarantee.”

At Amy’s satisfied smirk Jake slides two fingers between her legs, either side of her clit, and she feels her face fall and her mouth drop open at the contact, rutting against his hand in search of greater friction.

“Jake,” she whines. “If you don’t get a condom out in the next five seconds I swear to god…”

“On it,” Jake obliges, retracting his hand and twisting at the waist to dig inside his nightstand drawer and pull out a condom. He brandishes it victoriously but Amy snatches it from him and opens the foil packet as fast as she can. She rolls the condom down Jake’s length, gives him a few light-fingered strokes for good measure, then rises up on her knees and lowers herself down onto him, only letting go of her loose grip around him to give herself access to the last inches and then she sits, Jake inside her to the hilt, and steadies herself with her hands on Jake’s chest and Jake holding her sides.

“Beautiful,” Jake whispers again and Amy dips down to ghost another kiss across his lips before setting a rhythm. Her thighs are burning by now but the ache makes it better somehow; a swirling haze of pain and pleasure, tightroping between _too much_ and _not enough_ , and one day she’ll ask Jake to hurt her, to leave marks and bruises she’ll still feel days later.

Beneath her hands, Jake’s breathing is becoming increasingly jagged and his heart is racing. He’s started to cant his hips upwards to meet Amy’s strokes and his eyes are screwed so tightly shut it seems like he may never open them. He’s close, Amy knows, so she keeps one hand over Jake’s heart and uses the other to rub frantically at her clit as she continues her rhythm and, honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised to look down to see her thighs in flames, but she knows that Jake’s favorite way for sex to end is when they come at the same time and Amy’s _amazing_ at getting their orgasms to coincide. Jake lets out a guttural gasp and Amy feels herself tip, the tight hot coil in her belly bursting as she squeezes around Jake and he comes too, jerking and panting even after Amy lifts herself off of Jake and rolls back to her side of the bed.

She pulls the sheets back over her naked body to keep warm while Jake rolls off the condom, knots it, and drops it to the floor to deal with later. He offers an arm and Amy curls into his side, pressing a kiss to his collarbone as he presses one to her temple.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Amy grins and Jake laughs.

“If that’s the thanks I get, I’m going to buy you breakfast every day for the rest of my life.”

“Deal.”


End file.
